PS 3515 
.fl72 S2 
1910 
Copy 1 





Class _BS_3Xl5l 
Rook . hni- ^-i 



fapyrif^htN" l^iO 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



SAN SALVADOR 



ARTHUR M. HARRIS 



S E ATTL E : 

INGHRAM HUGHES, PRINTER. 

MC MX. 






Copyright Applied For. 



©CI.A2S8844 



San Salvador! Jesu's sweet Name 
Forever shall this Island bless, 

Whither through grace His servants came 
Bearing the Word, in humbleness. 

San Salvador! The Pinta's crew 
Fain would honor Jesu's mother. 

Truly the Gentle Virgin knew 
Why Her servant spake the Other. 

San Salvador ! The dove that flew 
Athwart our west' ring prow and clung 
To sea-wet rigging whilst we drew 
With aching eyes to land — some said 
Was that pure Spirito Sanctu 
Which brooded o'er our Savior's head 
On Jordan day. The midnight flame, 
Seen by the watch while we w^ere still 
At sea, the Pentecostal Name 
Upon this land should write. 'Twas meet, 
They said, to honor Spain's great king, 
Who from Palos had served the fleet 



At His command. Nought me prevailed 
Who only knew how in the night 
Of woe His mercy for me strave — 
The Holy Name I spoke with tears : 
San Salvador ! For He shall save 
His people. 

The day we sailed, mine heavy eyes 
Seemed o'er their reddened lids like suns 
Which on a misty morning rise 
Behind vermilion clouds. The night 
Had seen me take the Sacrament : 
Upon the altar steps I prayed 
Alone, nor from the chapel went 
Till I had seen the Sign : A child 
Who, laughing, bore Plenty's full horn 
And many fed, and led the wild 
Asturian bull in yoke of flowers. 
No cross I saw, save when the moon, 
Westward creeping, between the towers 
With blue beam pierced the incens'd 
gloom 



Lighting the carven ivory face 
Of our dear Lord, Whose gentle eyes 
Turned slowly on me, full of grace. 
The seamen, murmuring, said the day 
Was holy on which Jesu died. 
Nor should we fare upon our way 
Lest evil hap should come to pass. 
While others sighed to keep the fast 
At home, and sing the solemn Mass 
In their accustomed seats. To such 
I softly spoke : 'Tis truly meet 
This day to sail. Blessed the day. 
And blessed by Holy Church our fleet. 
Not for small gain is this our quest : 
Servants of God, His Word we take 
East, through the portals of the West, 
Which first throughout the East He 

spake. 
Still downcast, I spoke of ingots 
Rich — forgive me — straight they smiled. 
All in their hearts Iscariots. 



Thus we left the bar at Saltes, 
Ere the ruddy autumn sun peeped 
O'er the city's spires; the cool air 
Of morning into our sails creeped, 
Sweet laden with the fervent prayer 
Of watchers on the shore, and clear 
The ringing of the Matin's bell 
The passing fishers paused to hear 
With reverent sign ; the first beams fell 
Across the deck and shadows made 
Of giant height. Ocean's deep swell 
Upheaved our prows; her salty breath 
To me was sweeter than the kiss 
Of unspot womanhood. I knew 
That my poor life had been for this 
Great hour preserved : of all the seas 
High Admiral, and ennobled Don, 
The servant that their Majesties 
Deemed best to lay the honor on : 
To the Great Chan their greetings bear 
And Jesu's Word to speak; the flag 
Of mighty Spain to outfling there — 



A voice below spake to its mate : 
Our Master says the Earth is round, 

And it be not, our rotting bones 
Shall never lie in holy ground. 

At setting sun the evening breeze 

Scarce stirred the silken pennants that. 

With legend wove, like an old frieze. 

Hung drooping from the masts — a gift 

The saintly ladies of the court 

Of Ysabel, with fair white hands 

On oaken looms had gracious wrought. 

And to our ropes with silver strands 

Blushing had tied them. Not that I 

Had eyes for women's cheeks, but so 

The face of Mary must have flamed 

When winged herald to her named 

The First Born Child. It was our wont, 

All kneeling on the deck, to sing 

At eventide our evensong. 

Praying our Holy Lord to bring 

Us safely through. Then my three ships 



Would gently rock on ocean's knee 

The while the sacrifice of praise 

Rose sweetly o'er the listening sea, 

Led by the modest Manuel — 

A boy to whom an angel gave 

His heavenly voice — the child I loved, 

So innocent, so childly grave. 

The night watch lit the flaring torch, 
And from the darkling dusk one spake : 
Yonder there floats a lonely spar 
Upon this dreary waste. I quake 
Lest my poor carcass drift afar. 

At Gomera we lay awhile; 
The owner of the Pinta swore 
His ship would not obey the hand, 
No strand of sail would he raise more 
Till she was whole, nor leave the land 
Without new helm. Him, I forbore 
To chide. He did the Lord's command 
Unwilling — but the ship to him 



Belonged. He was full loath to come, 

Yet feared to stay, lest o'er the rim 

Of Earth she fall through careless hand. 

Here with some masters of the art 

Of figures I conversed and drew 

With their kind help on parchment chart 

New lines for men to find their way 

Across these seas — whose only path 

Was marked by the pole-star's ray. 

These grave men said 'Twas current talk 

That untrod land lay to the west 

Which some years since a man had prayed 

The King of Spain for ships to test 

The truth thereof. Some of my men 

AfTrighted by the market tales 

Of fierce sea beasts, came not again 

Unto the ships. I sighed to leave 

God's holy house; no more to hear 

The songs of Zion, nor the chant 

Of sweet voiced choir rising clear 

Into the dim and echoing dome 

Embellished by the artist's craft 



who gave to God his best. Ah, me! 
Thrice did I leave the church, and thrice 
Turned back, again to bend the knee 
In further prayer. The pilots came 
And said a favoring wind w^as sprung 
Up — then I praised His Name 
For His Answer, and so departed. 

Past TeneriflEe's far flaming crown 
We took a westward course ; the land 
Slow o'er our stern was merged in sea. 
The seamen wept, nor put their hand 
Unto the working of their ships. 
But woful gazed with wistful eyes 
Eastward, and clustered on the poop 
And highest spars, with every rise 
Of our low hull to see fair Spain 
Where they had lived their length of years 
Nor knew they loved till the broad main 
Between them rolled. The singing boy — 
So constant brave — sang the sweet strain 
Of War, of Love, of Hearth and Home, 



which moves the simple folk of Spain. 
I spoke again of the great wealth 
Of India — how the meanest man 
Eateth from plates of gold ; of stones 
Most precious that their mighty Chan 
Uses to pave his tropic gardens, 
Ivory walled; the housewife's pan 
Of common use was copper beat 
Fine ; the common horse they work for 

draft 
Strikes fire from flint with silvered feet. 

I heard three birds pass in the night, 
With pallid cheeks the watchman said : 
One for each ship; their throaty cries 
Seemed like the whining of the dead. 

So we stood out on silent seas, 

So silent still our strained ears 

Beat 'gainst their drums to catch some 

sound, 
Like one who in the woodland rears 



His head, alarmed, fearing the bound 
Of lurking beast. No more the bells 
From spired church on quiet Sabbath 

morn — 
No more the cheerful noise that swells 
From bustling market and down the 

streets 
Adjacent overflows — the horn 
Of wine-seller — the venders' cries 
That make the city's song. The wind 
Broods o'er this placid waste; we rise 
And fall, day after day, and find 
No land — Dawn flames across the skies 
To be encloaked of Night, as one 
With unseen hand these sheets unrolled 
And painted with the red-brushed sun. 

Yet me it served to strike my way — 
E'en as the ancient ball of flame — 
God's later children to the land 
He told me of in dreams, and came 
Ever before me. Soft the stream 



In laving ripple flowed around 
The intrusive prow^. Of all men, we 
The first to smell this brine, to feel 
Against our cheeks the breath of sea — 
The first to thrust our venturous keel 
Toward Earth's edge. So mild the clime, 
The days so clear, so full the night 
Of clustering stars, that Manuel, 
The boy I spoke of, with delight 
Fancied that Spring in Andalusia 
Was not more sweet, save in the dusk 
We hear no nightingale. Methought 
That though he smiled with bright 

conceit 
The laughter in his throat was caught 
Half way by sobs. I scanned his face, 
Nor could he hide the tears, but blushed 
That I, the Admiral, a trace 
Of girlish weakness in him saw. 

A steersman whispered to the rest 

They should betake themselves to prayer, 



For all were lost— a full point west 
The compass finger was outsprung, 
Nor pointed, quivering, to the North 
Where God had put it. So they cried 
That He Who brought His children forth 
From the Red Sea, their souls to shrive 
If they must die, and many vows 
They made should they be saved alive. 
They, muttering, menaced me. I knew 
The cause, and lifted up my heart 
With joy, in that the Word was true 
He gave me; the years of labor 
Body and mind had suffered through 
With the full flower of fruition 
Would now be crowned. At my behest 
They came, a rugged group, at dawn 
And, beard to beard, with anxious eyes 
Bent o'er the box where I had drawn 
With careful hand the Earth's degrees; 
The sun upshot, uprose their cry : 
Sancta Maria! This fleur-de-lys. 
With magnet tip points to the sky 



where shines the bright pole-star ! I 

proved 
The star, and not the needle, moved. 

Full thirty days we labored on ; 
My ruddy hair vi^as streaked white 
With watching, for I seldom slept, 
E'en grudged the time to break my fast, 
But morn and night I stedfast kept 
Count of the passing way. Each day 
Upon the mast the people notched 
The daily distance. Jesu, I pray 
Forgiveness — them I never told 
True tally of the miles: they'd say 
Too many leagues of ocean rolled 
' Twixt holy Spain and dark Cathay. 

Through gaping seams the water crept 
High and still higher. Our dwindling 

grain. 
Brine sod, we, natheless, hungry ate ; 
Thirsty, we prayed the blessed rain 



Would drop from heaven's glowing grate 
Where constant burned the sun. Now 

dark 
Mutiny's murderous whisper spread 
To willing ears : the people said 
A Ninevite slept in the bark. 

For three days more we'll go with thee, 

The sullen crew, emboldened, spake: 

An we come not to drink and food, 

Jesu upon thee mercy take. 

Then swore I by the holy Rood 

That I would go to India yet 

To take God's word; the king's command 

I would obey. Their hell-born threat 

Was treason — or to lift the hand 

Against the great king's admiral. 

To saintly Ysabel I 'd vowed 

To bring the unbleached pearl, to add 

Domain, splendid and vast, to proud 

Spain, and on Saint Peter's altar lay, 

As token of the church's zeal. 



This land whose darkened children kneel 
Before unhearing gods. 

One, wearied at the pumping, said: 
Our bodies yet may make a bread 
More carnal that^the Sacred Word, 
With which these heathen may be fed. 

The days had taled the Savior's span 
Of earthly years, since distant Spain 
We left. Despair in every man 
Hatched its dark brood of boding fears ; 
The pumps, o'erclung with sea-vine, 

clanked 
Unmanned ; with eyes too dry for tears. 
And gaping mouths, they watched the 

clouds. 
As they had done in boyish years 
Upon the hills of Spain. The shrouds 
Beat idly 'gainst the sun-split spar. 
Then, quivering, drooped — a throbbing 

calm 



Fell o'er the waters near and far, 
Anchoring the fleet with misty arm 
More fixed than if iron tooth 
Bit Neptune's loaf. Ah, woe was me 
Had not the wind sprung from the West, 
Ploughing with winged share the sea, 
Strewing in every breaking breast 
The gentle seed of hope. 

One, casting dice for water, said : 

The wind is ever from the East, 

An it be true it never veers. 

In Spain we'll ne'er keep Christmas feast. 

A wild rose branch of fragrant scent. 
The child Manuel, joyous, drew 
From its brine-bed, some angel threw 
Upon the waters for a sign 
Of God's near shore — it's leaves 
He kissed, the pliant stem did twine 
In shape of a small cross, to grace 
The bosom of another child. 



Then, flying came the white-breast dove, 
Pure symbol of His Love Whose hand 
At flaming sunrise to us gave 
For Christ and Crov^n the Western Land. 



JUL 7 ^8^0 



One copy del. to Cat, Div. 



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